


Something Good

by AidaRonan



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy | Andromache of Scythia Loves Baklava, Baklava as a love language, Competence Kink, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, F/F, Fingerfucking, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Pining, There was nothing heterosexual about that airplane fight, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: It starts in a safe house in France while they wait for Andy to heal, with a gift in brown parchment paper and baker's twine.It starts with a story of an ancient woman and an ancient kiss.It's a whim that leads Nile into a life of learning to make baklava. Just a whim. Not the way Andy's eyes flutter when she takes a bite, not the way she licks the honeyed syrup from her lips.Certainly not the way she looks at Nile.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Nile Freeman
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82





	Something Good

**Author's Note:**

> I know some people have a deep aversion to the c word, so I am forewarning that I use it in the porny parts of this fic.

Things were quiet after London. Sure, they had Copley, but they also had Andy—wounded more than once and generally beat to hell. Her body would need time to heal and knit back together, and either things in the world were quiet, or Copley already had the run of all of them enough to know that there was no leaving Andy behind. If they were all going, she was going too, unless they physically tied her to the furniture (and good luck with that).

“Nile.” Nicolo found her in the living room of the safe house, curled up under the window with an e-reader. The book was a Greek myth retold. Andy was mentioned in it. Nile decided the math wasn’t worth the psychic damage.

“Yeah?”

“Come tell us if this looks infected to you,” Nicky said, and Nile made a face but got up anyway, tossing the tablet on the pillows behind her.

“It’s not infected,” Andy said, holding her shirt up to reveal the healing bullet wound in her side. Andy had clearly been sick of this whole mortality business for a while. Countless millennia as a thing that couldn’t be broken, and now everyone was treating her like a rare piece of pottery.

Nile’s nose scrunched up. “It’s a little infected.” At that, Nicky and Yusuf exchanged glances, but no one said, ‘I told you so.’ No one had to.

“I’m going out.” Andy grabbed a coat and pulled it tight around her.

“Andy,” Nicolo said.

“I’ll be back.”

She slammed the front door on the way out.

Maybe that was the start of it all.

“I’m going out too,” Nile said, snatching up a jacket as well. It wasn’t hers per se. Or at least it wasn’t hers in the sense that she’d picked it out and bought it. Going through clothes like Kleenexes apparently gave immortals a pretty decent sense of sizing. Someone—Yusuf or Nicolo or even Booker—had bought a million things in her size. And admittedly enough of it was stuff she would’ve picked herself that she hadn’t even bothered to shop. That and, well, there’d been a lot going on since she’d first died.

Down the gravel road that ran in front of the safe house, she could see Andy in the distance, trudging with her hands in the pockets of the coat. Nile watched the light breeze whip at her short brown hair for a moment, then turned and went the other way.

She didn’t really know where she was going until she hit the edge of the nearest town. Until her feet crossed over the threshold of a bakery.

Everyone had been teaching her French off and on, and she was picking it up well enough to point to things inside the bakery case and say, “Deux s'il vous plaît.”

* * *

“You’re back.” Nile found Andy outside of the safe house, sitting in a wrought iron chair with one long leg crossed over the other, a bottle of antibiotics on the table beside her. “I, uh…” Nile offered her the little brown paper package tied with baker’s twine. When Andy sniffed it, her eyes fluttered closed. Nile looked away, clearing her throat and watching a butterfly land on a dandelion.

“Thank you,” Andy said, drawing her attention back. The baklava from the bakery was simple—layers of phyllo and bright green pistachios. It smelled strongly of honey. Andy kept smiling at her even while she took a bite, tongue darting out to lick the honey from her lips.

“Yeah. I can’t pretend to know how it feels and I know this doesn’t fix it, but…” Nile shrugged. “We’ve been eating comfort food for probably longer than even you’ve been around, so there must be something to it.”

She turned to go back inside, to leave Andy to her musing or brooding or whatever it was people did when they were old enough to have seen a live wooly mammoth.

“You know it’s funny the things you do remember,” Andy said, stopping Nile in her tracks. Andy eyed the seat next to her, and Nile knew an invitation when she saw one. The sky was blue save a single cloud, and Andy seemed to settle her eyes on it, following it where the wind shoved it from horizon to horizon. “I can’t remember what color my first husband’s eyes were, but I can remember the first time I had baklava.”

Andy took another bite, teeth crunching through so many layers. After she swallowed, she licked the syrup off her fingers. Nile took her own turn gazing at the sky.

“We were in Assyria. It was the 800s, maybe the 900s. I’m not sure. We weren’t exactly counting up to the birth of Christ in those days.”

Nile’s eyes flashed wider for a second. Logically, she knew Andy was Old, but it mostly existed as an abstract thought until Andy said shit like this. Not _just_ the 900s, the 900s BC.

“It was different back then.” Andy held up the baklava, studying the layers. “It didn’t get like this until the Greeks got involved. The pastry was thicker. I remember a woman in one of the villages. I traded her for a meal and sat with her at her table. I have no idea what else she served me. I can’t even remember her face, only that it was a good one. I know I thought it was strange she was alone with a face like that. After, when I kissed her, her lips tasted like honey.”

The words sank in, and Nile felt the ground tilt. “You’re…”

“Bisexual. Pansexual maybe.” Andy shrugged. “I’ve been through so many eras where the ways people expressed attraction and gender didn’t matter. I’ve been through too many where they have.”

“Is Booker… No, never mind.”

“Is Booker what?”

“Just… you are. I am. Nicolo and Yusuf definitely are. Maybe all immortals are queer, which still doesn’t explain why us, but…”

Andy smiled at her, a subtle shift of her lips that lit up her eyes. Amused. Indulgent. “Booker isn’t,” she said, before popping the last bite of baklava into her mouth.

“Oh well,” Nile said. “Every queer friend group needs a token straight.”

At that, Andy laughed, throwing her head back. It was that sound Nile thought about later as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was a whim at first, searching for ancient Assyrian baklava recipes. Andy’s story had made her curious, that was all. But as the search rabbit hole led her to modern recipes, to the names (only the names!) of ancient cookbooks, and back around to a recipe that was technically ancient but unfortunately Greek, the whim started to become a need.

The Internet said ancient baklava had been layers of flatbread with honey and nuts. That seemed to mesh with Andy’s story. And so Nile found herself searching out Assyrian flatbread recipes. And promptly remembering that while she could do some basic cooking, she had never been good at anything in the wheelhouse of bread.

And the recipe was… What kind of recipe called for 1.063 cups of water? What was she even supposed to do with that? How springy was a springy texture?

The first batch turned out bad. Half the flatbreads were burned. The other half were still raw in the middle.

“What’s going on, Nile?” Yusuf leaned casually on the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, you know…” Nile inhaled and sighed, picking dough off her fingers.

“You want some help?” Yusuf asked, tone casual. Nile looked at him, then down at the pile of sticky dough. Part of her wanted to do it herself because…

She clenched her jaw against that line of thought then smiled at him.

“Maybe a little,” she said, and just like that he stepped into the kitchen and turned the tablet around on its stand. He shook his head.

“A world with digital scales and Americans still insist on using cups.” His eyes scanned down the page, then grabbed a small bowl from the cabinets, adding flour to it and putting it down next to Nile’s work surface. “You need to work in more flour when it’s like that.”

He let Nile do all the work, coaching quietly but never taking over unless she asked.

“Now we let it rest,” Yusuf said. When she went back to it an hour later, he was already in the kitchen, sitting casually at the counter peeling an orange.

The second batch of flatbreads came out perfect.

The ancient baklava itself not so much. Nile had guessed at it, layering flatbread with nuts and drizzled honey. She did make them look pretty. Her mom’s Iron Chef obsession hadn’t been for nothing.

“You tried to make me Assyrian baklava.” Andy grinned at the plate—a single tall square with an artful drizzle.

“Tried is the operative word, I guess. There wasn’t exactly a recipe.” Nile had tasted it. She couldn’t say if it was right because she wasn’t literally older than paper, but it was sort of hard to make something that was basically bread, nuts, and honey taste gross. “Is it even close?”

“Honestly?” Andy asked, and Nile nodded. “No.” She took a bite anyway, humming. “But it’s very good.”

“All things considered, I’ll take it.” And Nile plopped down into the other wrought iron chair. It was a gorgeous day, everything green and blue like something out of a storybook. Wildflowers danced in the breeze. “So which do you like better?”

“Hmm?” Andy looked at her. She was sucking honey off her fingers again. The thin spaghetti straps of her tank showed the wound on her shoulder, still an angry pink but healed enough that it wouldn’t reopen in a fight. There was a single freckle nearby that Nile had never noticed before. She looked down at her boots and tried to keep her breaths even.

“The old baklava or the new baklava?”

“Hard to say.” Andy settled back in the chair, wincing a little, her hand automatically going to the wound near her waist. “Sometimes we remember things as better than they were. Sometimes memories don’t do a thing justice.” Andy laughed softly, more to herself than anything. “You’d think I’d be immune to nostalgia by now.”

Nile hummed.

“What is it?” Andy asked.

“Just that there are all kinds of movies and books and TV shows that are about immortal characters. They always hate it. They’re bored and they’ve been everywhere there is to be, seen everything there is to see.” Nile shifted her feet, scuffing one boot across the concrete. “I know there’s pain in it. Booker… But you’ve been alive as long as you have, and you’re still living. Missing things. Finding pleasure in something as simple as a dessert. Experiencing nostalgia like a 90s baby. Then there’s Nicolo and Yusuf who have been happy for a thousand years. I guess it’s comforting to know that the books and movies and TV shows got it wrong, that as much as some parts of this suck and hurt…”

Nile didn’t see her reach over until she’d already done it, her hand gently resting across Nile’s wrist. Another immortal thing. Every single one of them was tactile in ways Nile wasn’t used to. Modern people just didn’t touch each other so much. But she was getting used to it. And the fact that it was Andy…

In her chest, her heart fluttered like so many sheets of paper falling to the ground.

Andy gave her wrist a squeeze, and Nile raised her eyes to find Andy looking at her warmly.

“I once met an old man planting fruit trees. There was another man passing by, and he stopped and asked him why he was planting them when he would likely be dead before they ever bloomed. ’When I was a child, we were hungry. Now someone else’s children won’t be.’ That’s what he said.” Andy rubbed her thumb once across the vein in Nile’s wrist and glanced back toward the house. “They’ve probably got another thousand years ahead of them, maybe more. Who knows? I started this alone, but you’ve got them and soon enough Booker will be back with you. I’ve seen so many things change. I’ve watched empires grow and fall. I’ve seen entire landscapes change from forest to desert. I remember when the compass was invented, the telescope, and now you have the whole of humanity’s knowledge in your pocket.”

“Most of it anyway…” Nile eyed the empty “baklava” plate. But Andy just kept looking at her, her hand so warm around her wrist. Nile’s heart crawled its way up into her throat.

“I have no idea what you’re going to see during your time, but if you remember anything, remember this. Remember what you said to me. Remember to keep living.”

Andy finally let go of her only to reach up and cup her cheek. Nile had to stop herself from pressing her face into Andy’s open palm.

“Thanks for trying, Nile.” And just like that, she dropped her hand and settled back into her seat.

* * *

Nile tried the ancient-but-Greek recipe. When it was done, all four of them stood around the kitchen counter, digging out pieces with their fingers.

“You’re getting warmer,” Andy said. The look she gave Nile was more than warm. The freckle on her shoulder begged for Nile to start being more immortally tactile.

* * *

Nile reached out to Copley. She made it clear it was a passion project and not anything related to a mission "so please don’t make it a priority if you’ve got other things going on, but…"

He hit her back with a fake identity and a student e-mail address within the hour, the latter of which she used to e-mail several experts on Assyrian history.

It took a few days and a few overly lengthy e-mail exchanges, but she had it. She had the recipe and…

And she did not understand it, because what did she expect? A simple 1 cup this, 1/2 cup that recipe that included a helpful link to a YouTube video? And so she subjected herself to another lengthy e-mail exchange because she “wanted to make the dish as part of her research,” of course.

Another few days, and they had hashed out a proper recipe.

* * *

It was a Friday when Nile found the note. Yusuf and Nicolo were taking off for a couple of days, staying at a hotel somewhere.

“They do that sometimes when we’ve been holed up together for a while,” Andy said when Nile passed her the note. “Speaking of getting out, I think I’m gonna take a walk to town.”

Nile didn’t want to examine the why of it too closely, but it seemed like the perfect time to try the recipe. In her mind, she could already picture it, a plate of baklava waiting for Andy when she got back. And then…

Nile closed her eyes and took a deep breath before pulling out the mixing bowl.

By the time she was done, she was glad for all the failures before. The dough came together easy. The baklava was cool enough to eat by the time Andy wandered her way back in, stopping just inside the door and inhaling deeply.

“You tried again,” she said, finding Nile where she sat on the couch listening to music, socked feet drawn up beneath her.

“I tried again.” Nile got up and cut out a piece for each of them, sliding plates in front of their stools at the kitchen counter. The scent of warmth and honey hung in the air, and Nile watched Andy take an indelicate bite, anticipating her reaction and wondering if all the hours and e-mail exchanges had been worth it.

They were. It was like a jolt to the belly, the way Andy’s eyes immediately closed, a full-bodied hum billowing out of her chest.

With that glowing recommendation, Nile tried it herself, sweetness washing over her tongue while she chewed. Next to her, Andy’s eyes welled up just enough to make them shine. She blinked several times.

“You lose a lot of things if you live long enough. Favorite pairs of shoes. A copy of a book you carried until it literally started to crumble in your hands.” Andy took another bite, chewing like she was receiving the sacrement. “The truly wonderful thing is that sometimes you get them back.”

“It’s right then?”

“If it’s not, I don’t remember.” Andy turned to face her. “Why did you do this, Nile?” Andy asked, resting her elbow on the counter so she could lean casually onto her own palm.

Nile opened her mouth to answer when Andy snaked her foot out, slipping it between Nile’s calves so their legs rested ankle-to-ankle-to-ankle.

“I think you know why.” It felt like an admission both to Andy and to herself.

“A lot of people would say I’m too old for you.” Andy leaned closer to her, green eyes piercing. A challenge. Nile bent her own spine.

“Maybe you are. But there aren’t exactly any people who can understand the… all of it… who are my own age, Andy.”

“I’ll be dead soon.” Andy’s breath ghosted over Nile’s lips.

“Then you deserve something good even more than I do,” Nile said, before pressing her lips to Andy’s.

The soft moan Andy made went straight to Nile’s belly, kicking up embers like wind through a campfire. Nile felt Andy’s hand curl around the back of her neck. In turn, she tangled her fingers in Andy’s hair and held on tight while Andy’s tongue slipped into her mouth.

Nile had never been kissed like this. Never. She was barely getting used to being around the other immortals—the way their long lives translated to an overabundance of competence. And yet… Andy’s lips moved seamlessly against hers, every single motion adjusting to match Nile’s in a way that was bone-deep satisfying.

Nile couldn’t have said who broke the kiss even with a gun to her head (not that guns to her head were much of a threat anymore). But one second they were kissing, and the next Andy had her forehead against hers, panting into the air between them. She snaked her arm around Nile’s waist.

“Come here.” The hoarseness of Andy’s voice was another gust of wind. Nile let her pull her into her lap, straddling her atop the barstool and meeting her mouth again. This time, the kiss was less fluid. Messier, but in a way that was deliberate. Andy nipped at her bottom lip and licked into her mouth.

“You wanna go to bed?” Andy rasped, both hands firmly on Nile’s ass to keep her from tumbling out of her lap.

“Too far.”

“You wanna fuck on the kitchen counter?” And there was that smile, the one that had haunted Nile ever since they had it out on that piece-of-shit airplane. Like Nile was the most interesting thing to happen to Andy in ages. Like out of every single possibility the world had to offer, she wanted _her_.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Don’t worry, Nile. I know how to follow through.” Andy leveraged her position, using the strength of her thighs to push Nile up off her lap and onto the butcher block countertop. The empty plates crashed to the floor and shattered. The series of movements was so easy and fluid that there were still pieces of glass rattling around on the tile when Andy settled on her knees between Nile’s thighs.

Nile had to admire the cross-application of skills.

Or she might have admired it had Andy not rucked up the bottom of her tee shirt and pressed a kiss right above her naval. Goosebumps crawled down Nile’s arms. She shuddered.

“You know,” Andy said, placing another kiss over one of Nile’s ribs, pushing her shirt ever-higher, “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve seen thousands, maybe millions, of beautiful women. But you…”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Andy grinned and ran her fingertips down Nile’s side. “Doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

The need to kiss Andy again rose up in an instant, the spark in those green eyes drawing it forth like water from a well. Nile reached for the back of her neck, cupping it and pulling. Andy willingly followed, arms bracketing Nile’s face, mouth dipping to meet hers. It was somehow even hotter than the last kiss, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths, their tongues sliding together in a series of quick-but-graceful movements. Like a dance in a club where the walls pulsed to a beat. The same pulse beat in Nile’s throat.

Andy found that point with her mouth, hot and spit-slick, licking and sucking, teeth grazing the skin. Meanwhile, her hand slipped down the outside of Nile’s joggers, rubbing her through the fabric just enough to make her ache for more.

“Andy.” The sound came out like a gasp. Andy said something back against her skin, the words a jumble Nile couldn’t understand. Another language. Something rhythmic. Nile didn’t need to know, not with Andy’s hands flowing up her sides again, taking her shirt with them. Nile raised her arms, opening her mouth when Andy turned undressing her into an opportunity for another kiss. Nile barely registered the sound of fabric falling to the floor.

Above her, Andy pulled back to look, almost immediately moving to dive back in and put her head between Nile’s breasts. But Nile stopped her, gripping her by the shoulders.

“Fair’s fair,” Nile said, grabbing the back of Andy’s tank and pulling it up. Andy dipped her head to let her.

Unlike Nile, she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. On instinct, Nile cupped her ribs, holding her at arm’s length to admire her—the toned musculature of her stomach, the pink scar a few inches above her hip, a pair of small round breasts—slightly asymmetrical—each of them crowned by small pink nipples. She was beautiful. Nile couldn’t decide if she wanted to spend hours mapping every inch of Andy’s body with her lips or if she wanted the two of them to devour each other whole. Beneath her palms, Andy’s lungs expanded and contracted within her chest. Nile finally let go.

“Fair’s fair, right?” Andy asked, nudging Nile’s back up off the butcher block just enough to reach the hook on her bra—a plain brown nude number. Despite the tease, Andy still raised an eyebrow at her before she actually unhooked it, waiting for Nile to nod her consent.

“It’s okay,” Nile said, and Andy slid it off her arms like she was coaxing open the petals of a flower, gently unveiling, her eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin from the stretch marks on the sides of Nile’s breasts to her large deep brown areolas. Thumbs grazed over Nile’s nipples, Andy’s breath quickening at the feel of each hardened peak beneath her fingertips. The motion was exploratory at first, feeling, touching out of nothing but Andy’s own desire.

“You’re perfect.” Andy slid her hands beneath Nile’s breasts, cupping both and squeezing. All the while, her thumbs kept rubbing, the pressure becoming more deliberate, the swipes taking on a discernible pattern—side-to-side movements interspersed with a circle one way and then the next.

Nile’s eyes fluttered shut, every other thing in the world falling away. There was only this—Andy’s hands and Andy’s breathing and _Andy_. Nile arched into her touches, filling the room with soft sighs.

“Nile.” Andy’s breath flowed over her lips. When Nile opened her eyes, she was there, right above her. Nile raised her head without a single conscious thought, claiming Andy’s mouth for her own, her own hands reaching out to find Andy’s breasts, alternating between kneading them gently and softly pinching at her nipples.

By the time they broke apart, they were rutting together, thighs slotted between each other’s legs, both of them seeking friction they could never get enough of like this. Andy’s teeth grazed along her neck, lips pressing softly behind her ear lobe.

“I wanna know what you taste like.”

The only response Nile could manage was a moan.

Between her legs, Andy toyed with the elastic on Nile’s pants, fingers slipping just under the band to slide back and forth across her stomach.

“Is this okay?” Andy asked.

“It’s okay.”

The anticipation of it all knotted itself up in Nile’s belly, growing thick as summer air. She leaned her head up to watch Andy’s hand slip into her pants, moving lower and lower still. Under the edge of her underwear, through a nest of black curls. Nile sucked in a breath.

When Andy’s fingers found her, they found her slick. She pressed against Nile’s clit.

That alone was its own kind of relief. Nile let her head fall back onto the counter, exhaling thickly.

And then Andy started to touch her. Really touch her. Her fingers were deft. The pressure was perfect, and every time Nile made a noise, Andy adjusted instantly, until all that remained were a series of motions that were tailored for Nile and Nile alone, fingers dancing across her clit and pulling moans from deep within her chest.

“I’m gonna take your pants off,” Andy said, giving Nile a chance to object. When Nile didn’t, she stripped her bare, leaving her exposed on the counter.

“I can’t say I haven’t wondered what you look like like this.” Andy stood beside her on the side not littered with broken glass. She grinned when Nile’s eyes slid down to her black skinny jeans.

“You’d look better without those,” Nile said, and Andy’s lips only curled higher.

“Would I?” Andy’s fingers pushed the buttons of her jeans through their holes—slow, teasing. The zipper went in the same fashion. Licking her lips, Nile watched, her own hand slipping between her thighs while Andy wiggled out of the jeans to reveal a small pile of brown hair.

“I almost don’t want to stop you.” Andy stepped closer, tilting her head and watching where Nile’s hand rubbed. For several seconds, she let Nile keep going, studying every motion Nile made. But eventually she grabbed her wrist, coaxing it away.

“Wanna sit up for me?” Andy asked, helping her do it and urging her toward the edge of the bar where Andy took one of the stools, clearly dry-humping the vinyl even while her hands squeezed Nile’s thighs and encouraged them farther apart.

Nile had to lean on her palms to open herself up to Andy.

“You like fingers inside of you?” Andy asked, leaning forward to kiss up one of her thighs.

“Yes.”

And that was the last either of them spoke for a while. Andy barely teased her, licking once up either side of her labia before pressing her tongue—so soft, so wet—against Nile’s clit. At this too, Andy was an expert, guiding it gently under Nile’s hood. Perfect pressure, perfect motions. Like she was able to instantly translate the events of the last few minutes into this new medium. Nile’s head fell back, Andy pulling moan after moan from her like so many olives plucked from a tree. Nile found herself hooking her legs around Andy’s shoulders, desperate to keep her close, to make sure she never ever stopped.

“Andy, fuck.”

Against her, Andy laughed. But she was relentless in her pursuit of Nile’s pleasure, every flick of her tongue zipping right to Nile’s core.

And then she found Nile’s cunt with her fingers, pressing inside and rubbing her deep.

Nile wasn’t gonna last.

“Andy, I’m…”

Andy’s left hand gripped her hip, squeezing. Nile recognized it for what it was—an encouragement. Her eyelids fluttered, the ceiling blinking in an out like a strobe light while her orgasm built up inside of her, encouraged by every lick of Andy’s tongue, by every moment of her fingers fucking into Nile’s slick heat.

“Oh, God.”

One of Nile’s breaths caught in her throat, and she held it instinctively, concentrating on how close she was, on how any second now, she was going to break and she was going to do it with Andy’s mouth on her, with Andy’s fingers buried so deep.

Every breath became erratic—gasp, hold, gasp, hold.

Until…

When Nile came, she was surprised her groan didn’t shatter the windows. It rose up from deep in her belly, her whole body shuddering while the muscles in her cunt fluttered around Andy again and again. Through it all, Andy kept going. She didn’t stop for so much as a second until Nile made her, pushing her head away and grabbing hold of her wrist.

“Andy.” Nile panted into the air.

Andy smiled at her softly, like as far as she was concerned Nile had hung every star in the sky and then set them all in motion. “Nile.”

“I don’t know if I can compete with that,” Nile said, already slipping off the counter on shaky knees.

“It’s not a competition.” Andy wrapped her arms around her and hugged her close, pressing a tender kiss into the crook of Nile’s neck. “How do you want me?”

“Is this okay?” Nile asked, looking down at the place where their chests pressed together. She moved one hand to play in the nest of curls at the apex of Andy’s thighs. In response, Andy hiked a leg up around her waist to give her access.

She was absolutely soaking, so wet that Nile’s fingers slipped and slid against her. Nile pushed them against the opening of her cunt and looked her in the eyes, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” Andy said, and Nile kissed the echo of the words from her lips while she pushed her digits inside, curling them forward. With her palm, she rubbed Andy’s clit, curling and uncurling her hand and eating up every moan that passed through Andy’s lips.

It didn’t take long.

Against her mouth, Andy’s noises grew in volume, until she finally broke the kiss, pressing her cheek against Nile’s and panting hard in her ear. There was a desperation to the sounds, a necessity that made something in Nile ache.

“Nile.”

How much time?

“Oh, fuck.”

When Andy came, it was like her knees turned to sand. Nile had to hold her tight to keep her from dropping to the floor, one arm gripping her around her back, the other still working to make sure she wrung out every single moment of feel-good Andy had in her.

“Nile,” Andy gasped. “Nile st—stop.”

And just like that it was over. Nile held her with both arms until her breathing slowed.

“We’re gonna have to bleach this kitchen before Yusuf and Nicolo get back,” Nile muttered.

Andy laughed softly, pulling back from her and looking her deep in the eyes. The expression on her face made Nile’s heart tremble, the feeling only increasing when Andy looked at her lips and leaned in to kiss her. Tender and soft.

Andy pulled away and stroked the backs of her fingers down the side of Nile’s jaw before shrugging. “Maybe after we go a few more times.”

Nile snorted and shook her head, hand moving to Andy’s shoulder to brush across the knife scar. Below it sat that one lone freckle, the one she wanted to…

She could do that now. Briefly, she let her forehead rest against Andy’s, and then she dipped her head to find that single point on Andy’s silk-soft skin.

“Yeah, maybe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by and thanks in advance for your kudos and comments and bookmarks. 
> 
> In the course of writing this fic, I really did find a flatbread recipe that called for 1.063 cups of water which? what? I assume it was a mistake or someone converted a metric measurement over and just kinda... left it like that. 
> 
> I obviously did not go through the steps of getting an actual recipe for ancient Assyrian baklava, but I did find out the history of baklava and who made it first is a hotly-debated topic.


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